Me llamo Shazzy

This morning we dragged our tired arses out of bed at a hour on a Saturday that should be illegal.

But it was worth it, because the first of our eight week Spanish class was esto fue tan divertido. Most of the 15 attendees were there to prep for travels to Central and Latin America, although one woman admitted she needed it for her work with Colombian refugees (who knew there were so many in Wellington?)

We started with basic pronunciation, tyring to encode in our mental hard-drives the various vowel/consonant rules, before moving onto grammar and that tricky little beast, possession. Then it was time to pair up (I, of course, got stuck with the Animator) to wrap our tongues around saludos (greetings) and quiz each other on such burning issues as, De que colour es tu chaqueta? Black, since you ask.

I've had a linguistic crush on Espanol ever since I set foot in Madrid a few decades ago and it's about time I finally learnt how to string more than a sentence or two together. I'm off now to do my homework; feel free to talk amongst yourselves.